


Take It Easy

by dotpng



Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Gordon Clark Human Disaster, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotpng/pseuds/dotpng
Summary: In retrospect, he would tell himself he’d gotten nervous or blame it on the lack of sleep, but in the moment all he could think was Jesus fucking Christ why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> reqs and suggestions welcome @ honestfutures.tumblr.com!

Gordon put down the wires he was holding and yawned. He hadn't slept in days. With the project how it was right now, all Joe's stupid elaborate plans and last minute changes, the closest thing he'd had recently was dozing off for a minute at the coffee machine and dreaming about soft sheets.  
  
He sighed, rubbed his eyes and stood up. Maybe walking around would do him some good. Get the blood flowing or whatever. This late at night, the office was pretty much deserted, and anything was better than staring at this mess for another hour. He’d stayed late at Cardiff before, but somehow the total quiet was something he never got used to. Home was always full of the kids’ squabbling and playing, and work usually had the bustle and noise of a big project. Padding around silently in the dark on the carpeted floor, he felt like some kind of cartoon spy.

Although... What was that light down the hall? First he thought it must be Cameron, prancing around and doing god-knows-what, and almost turned right back, but when he listened he couldn’t hear the telltale tinny sound of too-loud music blasting out of headphones. Nothing but the low hum of the vending machines. Weird. Must be someone else, but who? He’d told his team to go home, and all the coders had headed out hours ago too.

He walked over to the lit room and peeked his head in. There Joe was, leaning against a desk, shoulders slumped and, from the look on his face and the papers strewn across the floor at his feet, apparently having some sort of depressive crisis. Fleetingly he noted how Joe, disheveled and forlorn, somehow still looked like a men’s fragrance ad model. It was weird and unfair.

Either way, he wasn’t about to intrude on his brooding time or whatever. Trying not to make a sound, he turned to leave. “Gordon.”

He started, and turned around again to see Joe still staring straight ahead. He scratched his head sheepishly. “Oh, sorry, I was just passing by, so…” he trailed off.

“Gordon,” Joe repeated, “why are we doing this?”

He blinked. “I uh… what?”

“I just felt like this project… I don’t know.”

Oh boy. Gordon wasn’t good at this kind of stuff. Stiffly, he went over to sit next to where Joe leaned on the desk and, hand hovering in the air for several agonizing seconds, tried to decide whether or not to attempt a sympathetic pat on the back. Finally he just stuffed his sweaty hands back in his pockets.

“So uh,” he hesitated. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah.” And then, after a pause, “No.” Joe shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t know why, yesterday it felt like everything was going fine, but… All of this feels like a losing gamble.”

Yikes. Gordon frowned. “What are you saying? This was _your_ project.”

“Well, what do I know,” said Joe, humorless. “I’m just a carpetbagger from New York.”

“You’re the one who keeps pushing us to do more. You’ve gotta believe-”

“Really? Even when you and your team keep coming back to tell me it’s impossible, that the laws of physics are against me? You said that, right?”

“Well yeah, but….” Gordon struggled with the words, “That’s- that's part of innovation. The drive to push past limits. I mean, we’re figuring out fixes, Joe, it’ll be fine.” Probably.

“I don't know… I feel like we’re always going to be chasing the next solution, again and again, losing time and money until we realize none of this amounted to anything.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

Gordon laughed a little. “I guess that's how Donna felt about the Symphonic, in the end. Me, I never stopped believing in it. I just wanted to make something that counted, you know? And it was the same when you asked me to build a computer with you. It was crazy, but at the same time, there was the same rush, the same feeling, like- like we were on the edge the future. We are. You made me- made that happen.” He paused, self-conscious. “I mean, she was right about the Symphonic, but-”  
  
“No. The Symphonic was genius,” Joe said softly. “I’m not- I’m flattered, but you don’t have to bother with this. I’m kind of a lost cause.”

"Well- My wife says I'm attracted to lost causes," he blurted out. Oh, God.  
  
Joe turned to look at him, finally, and smiled. Just a small little rueful smile, not that bullshit Joe MacMillan megawatt grin Gordon was used to seeing him flash (at other people), but still looking more like himself than the anxious stranger from a minute before. It was funny, Gordon thought. Seeing him smile not as a calculated move, just... openly. Genuinely. _At him_. It felt like catching a cryptid on camera.  
  
Suddenly he was acutely aware of how close they were sitting, how nice Joe's stupid fancy aftershave smelled, how good his hair looked like this, a bit tousled. He panicked a little bit.

And kissed Joe on the cheek.

In retrospect, he would tell himself he’d gotten nervous or blame it on the lack of sleep, but in the moment all he could think was _Jesus fucking Christ_ _why_.

For several seconds, Joe just stared at him, completely frozen.

“I…” Gordon started. He mentally cycled through several possible explanations. Then decided against it and bolted from the room.

As he ran, he heard Joe yell after him, but didn't turn back. When he reached the elevators he pressed the call button feverishly until the doors opened, stumbled inside, and all the way down desperately tried to convince himself the entire incident had been a stress-induced fever dream.

But it wasn’t. It _wasn’t_ . And mixed up in the embarrassment and the shame and the guilt (oh God, _Donna_ ) there was an unreal kind of horrified elation. When was the last time he’d kissed a guy? Like, college, probably, but even that was just shy and tentative, between friends. And then this… kissing _Joe MacMillan_ on the _cheek_? What was that? Did he have a death wish? Death by mortification?

The elevator dinged, and Gordon walked out into the parking lot- then stopped. Where was he supposed to go? Home? It was 4 AM. What was he gonna do, drive home, lie in bed awake next to Donna for two hours and then try to keep up a normal act all through breakfast? No. No way. He turned to look up at Cardiff and winced when he saw the single lit window. Nope, not there either. So he did the only thing he could: he walked to his car, got in, tilted the seat back, and fell asleep.

* * *

“Jesus, Gordo,” said Larry when he walked in the next morning. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, you too,” he said sourly. It was true though; a night in the car hadn’t done him (or his back) any favors. His shirt was even more wrinkled than it had been, and there were red marks on his face where he’d fallen asleep against his glasses. All in all a shitty night for Gordon Clark, but at least he felt like he’d mostly managed to calm down about-

“So, have you talked to Joe?”

Gordon froze. “Joe? What? Why, did he say something?”

Stan looked at him with concern. “You were supposed to ask him about the new software specs, remember?” He paused. “Are you feeling okay?”

Slowly he realized the room had gone quiet and everyone was staring at him. He felt like sinking into the floor. “Uh, yeah, right, sorry. I’m just kind of- I had a rough night. Still tired.”

“Take it easy, man,” said Barry carefully. “Get yourself a coffee or something.”

Gordon just nodded and left towards the coffee machine, too embarrassed to say anything. He really had to get a grip soon or someone would catch on.

As he walked by the desks, he thought he saw several people sneaking glances at him. Joe hadn’t- he hadn’t _told_ people, had he? No way. Absolutely not. No, no, no. Gordon anxiously looked at the coders around him, all intensely focused on their computer screens. Maybe it was just his imagination, right? Or maybe… God, if he kept this up it was going to drive him crazy. He steeled himself and kept walking towards the break area.

And then promptly dove behind a partition when he saw Joe standing next to the vending machine. Now the coders were definitely gawking, but he didn’t care about them anymore. Had he seen him? Carefully, he peeked his head out- and saw Joe staring directly at him, a puzzled expression on his face. Shit. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Gordon turned and ran (then, noticing everyone’s disapproving glances, speed-walked), this time to his office. He closed the door, sat down, and sighed. This was a disaster. Hopefully, he looked over at his office door. Maybe if he stayed really quiet, everyone would forget about him and he could avoid everyone all day.

Unfortunately, at that moment someone knocked on the door, and Gordon nearly had a heart attack until the person spoke. “Mr. Clark?” Thank God it wasn’t Joe. He sat still and prayed she would just leave. “Hon, you in there?” Gordon sighed. No escaping it. “Yeah, Debbie, what is it?”

She opened the door a little and poked her head in, all smiles. “Mr. MacMillan would like to see you in his office.”

This day just got better and better. “Can’t I reschedule or something? This is a bad time.”

She hesitated. “He said it was urgent.”

“I can’t- Jesus. You know what? Nevermind, it’s fine. Thanks.” Gordon stood up and forced a smile as he passed Debbie, who by now looked a bit concerned. What exactly was Joe going to say to him? Was he going to mock him? Tell Donna? Or, oh God, was he fired? By the time he got to Joe’s door, every possible negative scenario was running through his mind. He knocked.

“Come in.” He walked in, trying to make himself as small as possible. “Ah, Gordon,” said Joe, standing up from his desk. “I just wanted to make sure that-”

Gordon couldn’t help himself. “I am so, so sorry,” he interrupted, and suddenly they were talking all over each other.

“What? Don’t worry about it, it’s-”

“God, I can’t believe I-”

“Please, it’s fine-”

“You must think I’m some kind of-”

“Gordon, stop-”

“I swear I’ll never-”

“Gordon.”

“Please don’t tell Donna-”

“Gordon!”

He stopped, startled. Joe had crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed Gordon’s shoulders. Again, Gordon opened his mouth to speak. “I just-”

Joe closed the distance between them and interrupted him with a kiss. A _real_ kiss, this time, soft and slow and warm, and smelling like that stupid fancy aftershave, and Gordon’s brain just. Short-circuited.

Oh.

Holy shit.

Finally, after how long Gordon couldn’t tell, Joe straightened up and looked him in the eyes. “So. Are we good?”

“Uh,” was all Gordon could say.

“Okay, good. Just wanted to clarify that.” And he smiled.


End file.
